Chapter 5

Todd studied Temperance as she gave her talk. He was worried about her. She hadn't been herself since Minneapolis. He'd thought maybe she just needed some time to think through whatever was bothering her, but two days and an entire state later she was still pale except for those dark shadows under her eyes. She wasn't engaging with the audience as well, either. Her answers were short, to the point, and utterly lacking in warmth. It seemed like overnight she'd become the Temperance Brennan of old. Rational. Distant. Aloof.

His cellphone flashed with an incoming message. He knew what it said without looking. What he didn't know was how to respond. He wasn't sure what, or who, had caused the sudden shift in her mood, but he suspected he could make a pretty fair guess. He reached across the table, his eyes still on Temperance, and picked up the phone.

How's she doing?

Suspicions confirmed, Todd sighed and wondered how to answer. He was damned if he knew whether he should lie or tell the truth.

The truth, he decided finally. Or something like it. He wasn't going to lie, and if her mood was Booth's fault, he should hear about it. Two words, and then he'd drop it. Let the two of them sort it out. And thank God they were almost done with the tour. They would hit Chicago tomorrow, and for once it wasn't one of the big chains. Maybe there would be something about the audience that would warm her up a little. He typed in the message and sent it off before he could start second guessing himself.

Not good

He set the phone aside. Temperance was almost done speaking, and there was work to do. By the time he'd set out her pens, filled her water glass, and checked that the extra stacks of books were tidy, she was wrapping up. While she started on autographs he organized the audience and spoke with her fans, thanking them for coming, discussing their favorite scenes from the books, and offering vague hints as to what she might be writing next. But he kept an eye on her the whole time, making sure to stay close in case she should need him.

Chuck was near the end of the line today, he noticed. Todd stopped to thank him for coming to yet another signing. The man didn't look like his pockets were lined with gold, but he'd still found a way to follow Temperance all over the country. That was dedication.

"Are you coming all the way to Chicago with us?" Todd asked, after exchanging a friendly handshake.

"I don't think so." Chuck had an odd, gruff way of speaking that made Todd wonder about his past. "Don't want to make all them lady folk nervous."

"Lady folk?" Todd grinned. Chuck reminded him of his uncle, all Bible-belt courtly and harmless as a six-o'clock shadow. Talking with him always made Todd think of his mother's buttermilk biscuits and his father's coon hounds.

"Well, you know how it is. It's one of them feminist bookstores. Men like you and me, well, we might not be too welcome."

"Oh, I'm sure that isn't true at all," Todd said diplomatically. "Besides, you've come with us this far. Do you really want to miss out on the last stop?"

"I don't reckon I'll be missing out on much," Chuck said. He craned his neck around Todd. Lowered his voice. "She don't seem like herself today. I think maybe she's gettin' tired." He drew his head back in. Leveled a sharp-eyed glance at Todd. "She okay?"

"She's fine," Todd reassured him, though he wasn't at all sure of that himself. "It's just been a busy few weeks."

"Yeah," but Chuck still looked doubtful. "I guess so. Still and all, I think I'll catch an early flight home tomorrow." He gave Todd a quick, rueful grin. "'Sides, it'll be one less book for her to sign. She might be grateful for the break."

Todd chuckled obligingly at the joke, but he hoped Temperance's mood improved before they hit Chicago. He preferred to end these tours on a high note.

The crowd thinned quickly, and it wasn't long before they started cleaning up. Temperance worked as hard as ever, but her movements lacked their usual energy, and he was glad when they finished and could finally escape into the early Milwaukee evening.

"How about dinner?" Todd asked, careful to keep his voice casual.

Temperance shook her head. "I'm not very hungry," she said. "I think I'd rather just take a sandwich back to the hotel."

"Come on," he coaxed. "You can eat all the sandwiches you want on the train. Join me for some real food."

She gave him a wan smile but didn't answer right away. He was about to prod her again when she finally nodded. "Okay."

He decided on Italian food. The calorie-dense carbs would do her good-or at least they would if he could get her to eat.

Not surprisingly, when faced with an actual menu, Temperance ordered a salad. It wasn't what he'd hoped for, but at least she was eating something. When their food arrived she picked at hers, and Todd finally shook his head. Setting his fork down, he leaned toward her.

"All right," he said. "What's going on?"

She blinked at him. "Nothing," she said, but her voice was hollow. Flat. "I'm fine."

"Right." He sat back while their server refilled their water glasses, then leaned forward again. "Then why do you look like your best friend just died?"

When she winced he raised his eyebrows. "That hit a little too close to home, didn't it."

"No, it's just …" She bit her lip. Shook her head. Then she pushed her plate away and dropped her hands into her lap. "Booth found out."

His heart sank. "About the fertility thing?"

"Yes."

Suddenly her lack of appetite made sense. "How did he react?"

"Exactly the way you and Angela said he would."

Damn. He'd hoped he was wrong, that the guy would at least listen to her explanation. Todd reached out. Touched her hand.

"He'll come around, Temp. It was just a shock, that's all. Give him some time."

"No." There were tears in her eyes. He'd never seen her cry before, and it made him want to punch Special Agent Seeley Booth. Gun or no gun. "I think-" She drew in a deep breath, let it out on a long, slow sigh. "I think it's over, Todd."

He wanted to tell her that she had to be wrong, that the man would realize how lucky he was to have her, and that with time Booth would forgive her for what had admittedly been a monumentally bad decision. But he didn't really know Booth. Maybe the man was a total son-of-a-bitch who would dump a gorgeous, brilliant woman over this. But it didn't seem to him that Temperance would fall for a guy like that.

"What are you going to do?" he asked her quietly.

She swiped at her eyes. Straightened her spine. "I'll be fine," she said. "Please don't worry about me."

He snorted at that. "Friends worry," he said. "It's part of the job." He nudged her plate back toward her, hoping she would eat at least another bite or two. "And I like to think of myself as your friend."

That earned him a faint smile.

"You need to eat something." He nudged the plate again. "That baby you're incubating needs nourishment."

"Incubating?" The faint spark of amusement in her eyes was the first he'd seen from her in two days.

He gave her a grin, a wave of the hand. "Hey, you aren't the only one who can use big words around here."

"Mammals don't incubate their young," she said. "And I'm not a chicken."

He laughed outright at that. "No, you certainly aren't."

She picked up her fork and gave him a look from under her eyelashes that made him wonder if she knew he was teasing her. "What I'm doing-" She stabbed a tomato. "-is gestating."

She could call it whatever the hell she wanted to as long as she kept eating. He pushed the basket of garlic bread a few inches closer.

"What about that job in Canada?" he asked. She'd mentioned the offer when they'd been in New Orleans, but she hadn't seemed serious about it. "Maybe a fresh start is exactly what you need."

Her eyes snapped up, and she shook her head. "I wouldn't do that to Booth," she said. "I won't keep him from his child, even if he and I aren't together anymore."

The way she said it, with steely determination in her voice and fire in her eyes, had him raising his eyebrows. Whatever Booth might be feeling about her right now, it was pretty obvious that she was still in love with him.

She was watching him, her gaze steady as she shredded a piece of garlic bread onto her plate.

"I'll be okay alone." She dropped the rest of the bread. Pushed the plate away again. "Some people just aren't meant to be in a relationship."

It was probably the most depressing thing she'd ever said to him, and the toneless way she said it was even worse. "I don't believe that's true about anybody," he said, "but especially not about you."

She shrugged. "That's your right," she said. There was no venom in her voice, only a kind of calm acceptance. "If you don't mind, I think I'd like to go back to my hotel now."

He nodded, settled the bill, and escorted her out of the restaurant. She was quiet on the ride back, but she gave him a faint smile as she climbed out of the rental car.

"Don't worry about me," she said again, and he wondered if she thought that repetition would make it true. "I'll be fine."

He just managed not to snort. Nodded his head instead. "Goodnight, Temperance."

"Goodnight," she said. "I'll see you in Chicago."

*x*x*x*x*

Booth picked up the heavy glass, his eyes on the amber liquid inside. He took a sip and let its heat roll down his throat. He'd come here straight from what had been a hellish day at the office. He'd snapped at Genny Shaw when she'd stopped by to ask him an innocent question, had all but slammed his office door in Sweets's face, and got caught unprepared when Hacker had asked him for an update on one of his cases.

All in all, a truly crappy day.

With the next swallow he felt the buzz start behind his eyes. Hard alcohol on an empty stomach was the quickest path to oblivion he knew, and exactly what he wanted right now.

"Mind if I join you?"

He looked over, saw who it was, and gestured at the stool beside him. "Help yourself."

Camille settled in and waved the bartender over. "I'll have what he's having," she said, hooking a finger toward Booth. When her drink arrived a few seconds later she sniffed at it and gave him a sidelong glance, eyebrows raised.

"How many of these have you had?"

Booth held up two fingers and waved the bartender in for a refill.

"Well." She took a careful sip of her own drink. "I figure that means one of two things. Either you got fired or somebody broke your heart."

He gave a short, humorless laugh. "Something like that."

"I'd have gotten a call if you'd been fired," she said, giving no evidence that she'd heard him. "So what did Dr. Brennan do?"

His fingers flexed against the base of his glass. His jaw clenched. "You sure got there in a hurry."

Cam shrugged, her gaze steady on his. "There aren't too many things in this world that can make you drink yourself stupid, but Temperance Brennan is right at the top of the list."

She was right about that much. He scooped a handful of peanuts out of the bowl on the bar. Dropping most of them on his napkin, he popped the last one into his mouth and chased it down with a gulp of scotch.

"So?" Cam reached out, picked up his glass, and set it next to hers, giving him a pointed look. "What did she do this time?"

Booth did a quick visual recon, checking for eavesdroppers. When it appeared they wouldn't be overheard, he turned back to Cam.

"She used my … stuff," he said, repressing a surge of embarrassment. He couldn't believe he was talking about this here, and to Cam of all people. But hell, he had to talk to someone.

"Your stuff." She raised an eyebrow. "Really."

Booth huffed in annoyance.

"Not, like, my stuff," he said, trying to clarify without actually saying the word. They were in public, after all. "My … stuff."

She stared at him for a puzzled moment. Then, "Oh," she said, drawing out the single syllable on a long exhale as her expression cleared. "That stuff."

"Yes, that stuff." Irritated, Booth tossed more peanuts into his mouth. Now that Cam was around, it seemed a good idea to mop up some of the alcohol that was sloshing through his system.

"That's how she got pregnant? I assumed that you two …"

He glared at her as he swallowed. "We did."

"So the other thing … That was before?"

"Most of it."

"Most of it." Cam slid his glass back over in front of him. "No wonder you went straight for the scotch."

Booth said nothing, but he felt her eyes on him. Ignoring her, he took a fresh handful of peanuts from the bowl and dumped them on his napkin.

"So are you going to fill me in?" Cam asked. "Or do I have to guess."

It took almost an hour to lay it all out for her. By the time he finished she was shaking her head.

"Can't you two do anything like normal people?" she asked.

Booth signalled for another drink. "Apparently not."

Cam waited until the bartender moved off before speaking again. "So she made this decision after the Eames case."

He nodded. And that had been months ago. He still couldn't wrap his head around it. All that time without saying a word. To anybody.

"And that was also when you told her it was too late for the two of you?"

"Yes." He could still see it in his mind's eye. The rain. The darkness. The way her tears had glinted on her cheeks each time they'd passed under a streetlamp. That thirty-minute trip back to her apartment had been the longest, quietest half hour of his life. "She said she didn't want to have any regrets." In retrospect, the phrase was eerily prophetic.

Cam drained the last of her drink and set the empty glass aside. "I was afraid something like this would happen," she said.

Booth had begun toying with a napkin, idly folding it into a fan, but at Cam's words he fired a sharp glance at her. "You thought she might go back to the clinic?"

"Not exactly, no."

"What, then?" And why hadn't she said anything to him?

She studied him thoughtfully. "Do you remember what I said to you after you had your brain surgery?" She pushed a bowl of pretzels toward him as he shook his head. "I warned you that if you broke her heart she would never trust anybody again." She helped herself to a pretzel. "You turned her down after the Eames case, right? Told her you loved Hannah?" Snapping the pretzel in half, she dropped one piece on her napkin and the other in her mouth. "What did you expect her to do?"

"Hey, she turned me down first."

"Oh, that's mature." Cam narrowed a piercing gaze at him. "From what I heard, you didn't put up much of a fight."

"What the hell was I supposed to do? Get down on my knees and beg?"

With a snort of disgust, Cam shook her head. "Don't be stupid."

"What then?"

"Look, I don't know what went down between you two that sent her running off to Maluku, but whatever it was must have scared her to death." A burst of raucous laughter from a nearby table drew Cam's glance, but Booth ignored it and took another drink. Cam waited until he'd set down the glass before speaking again."You know how she is, Seeley. You should have given her more time."

Booth leaned in close. He kept his voice low, but it vibrated with anger. "I gave her plenty of time," he said. "Hell, I didn't even argue when she ran half way across the world."

Cam didn't flinch from his anger, but she never did. It was one of the things he liked about her. She didn't scare easily.

"No. Instead you went to Afghanistan and found yourself a new girlfriend," she said, aiming one perfectly-arched eyebrow in his direction. "That's your idea of giving her time?"

He stiffened. "So you're saying this is all my fault?"

"No, that's not what I'm saying at all."

"Then what the hell are you saying?"

"Just that maybe you should try looking at things from Dr. Brennan's point of view for a change."

"For a change?" He wanted, suddenly, to smash his glass into the mirror behind the bar, just for the satisfaction of seeing both glass and mirror shatter. "I've been looking at things from her point of view for more than six years, Camille. Six. Fucking. Years."

"No," Unfazed by his anger, Cam brushed crumbs into a neat pile with her napkin. "You've been trying to change her for six years." She looked up, meeting his eyes. "You kept pushing her to open up, to trust people again, to see the world in something other than black and white." She crumpled the napkin into a ball. Dropped it on the gleaming wood of the bar. "And it was working, too. Bit by bit she was coming out of her shell." He saw the hint of a smile tilt up the corners of her lips. "I was proud of you," she said softly. "I never knew you had that kind of patience. Hell, I'll admit it. I was even a little bit jealous. I'd never seen you take that kind of time with anybody else."

She uncrossed her legs, smoothed down her skirt. "I could see that the two of you were building something special." Her gaze met his again. There was a question there, one he wasn't sure he was ready to answer. "But you got impatient."

Damn Sweets, with his stupid book and his 'you're the gambler' line.

"The point is, she turned me down." He could still see the look on her face, still hear the pain in her voice as she'd insisted she was protecting him. "And then she ran."

"But she came back," Cam said. "And you know what the ironic part is?"

"No," he said bitterly, "but I'm sure you're going to tell me."

"She changed while she was down there. When she came back-" She shrugged. "She was different, Seeley. More self aware, maybe. And when she looked at you..." Leaving the thought unfinished, Cam shook her head, sighed, and signalled the bartender for a refill. "But you were still too hurt and too pissed off to see it, so when Hannah turned up in Washington you leapt at the chance to show Brennan just how fine you really were." She looked him in the eye, her gaze steady. Calm. "Hannah was your revenge."

"She was not!" The suggestion sent him reeling. He'd asked Hannah to marry him, hadn't he? Didn't that count for anything? Didn't it prove how serious he'd been? Maybe he hadn't loved her in the same all-encompassing way he loved Bones, but he could have built a life with Hannah, could have been content with second best.

Unmoved, Cam nodded her thanks to the bartender and took a sip of her drink. "Stop lying to yourself, Seeley. You're too smart for that." She set the glass down, nudged it back with the tip of one finger. "Hannah was all about making Dr. Brennan pay for breaking your heart."

He wanted to argue with her, insist that he would never do something like that. But this was Cam. She'd been his friend for too long, knew him too well. Still, had he really used Hannah to get even? And if he had, what kind of person did that make him?

"Dr. Brennan thinks you changed your mind, Seeley." She said it quietly, her gaze steady on his. "And that means all bets are off."

"So you are saying this is all my fault."

"No, I'm not," she insisted. "I'm just trying to help you see where she's coming from."

He leaned in and lowered his voice to something just shy of a whisper, but the hurt was still there, even in the quiet. "She stole my sperm." That was the heart of it. That was why he was here, why he was doing his damnedest to get wasted.

"I don't think that's how she sees it." Cam helped herself to another pretzel. "As far as Dr. Brennan was concerned that sperm was hers, free and clear. Hell, she waited for two years. Didn't it even occur to you to wonder what she was waiting for?"

It didn't matter why she'd waited, only that she'd stopped waiting without bothering to discuss it with him.

"Bones was trying to get pregnant, Camille." He didn't know what bothered him more, the fact that she'd gone back to the clinic or the fact that she hadn't trusted him enough to talk to him about it. "She was going to have my kid, move to Canada, and never even tell me about him." He punctuated the last few words with sharp jabs of his finger against the bar.

"What are you really pissed off about?" Her voice was quiet, but steady. "Is it that she used your sperm without telling you?" Meeting his eyes, she asked the question he hadn't yet found the courage to ask himself. "Or is it that she moved on."

Both! he wanted to shout. But he said nothing, choosing instead to take refuge in another gulp of scotch.

"Let me ask you something." Cam shifted, recrossing her legs and angling her body toward his.

Booth set his glass down on the bar with a thud. "Shoot."

"Does she know how you feel about her?"

He blinked at her as the question percolated through his alcohol-fogged brain. "What kind of question is that? Of course she does!"

Images flashed through his mind, each one clear as a photograph. Walking on the beach, her head on his shoulder. Making love by candlelight, by moonlight, by daylight. Talking for hours on end. The brilliance of her smile. The warmth in her eyes. Her expression when they'd lain on the beach and he'd splayed his fingers across the gentle rise of her stomach.

"Seeley ..."

He felt Cam's hand on his arm and looked over to find her watching him.

"I mean," she said, "have you ever actually said the words?"

Oh. He sighed. Thinking it probably didn't count. "The last time I even came close she ran all the way to Maluku." He didn't bother mispronouncing the name. Bones wasn't around to correct him.

"Now she's in Chicago." Cam looked worried. "And all she knows is that you're pissed as hell at her." She shook her head. "You're either incredibly brave or thick as a brick."

Booth thought about the text messages he'd exchanged with Todd the previous day. At the time Booth had been too pissed off to care about the not good response. Hell, if anything he'd felt vindicated knowing that Bones was hurting, too. Now he stared at Cam in alarm.

"She won't run." At least he didn't think she would. Bones had promised she wouldn't keep him from his child, but the way she'd ended the call, with that quiet resignation in her voice … God, what if …?

"I don't know, Seeley, but if I were Temperance Brennan? I'd definitely be considering my options."

If she did run he would go after her. He wouldn't let her drop out of his life like she had when she'd gone to Maluku. No way in hell he was going to go through that again.

The music changed to something upbeat, its strong bass line and steady, pulsating rhythm seasoned with sounds of passing traffic and snippets of conversation as customers came and went through the front door. Glasses clinked. On the flatscreen tv in the corner a sportscaster droned on about Tiger Woods. Booth ignored all of it, caught up in thoughts of Bones and what he would do if she disappeared.

"You bastard." The venomous growl came from somewhere just behind his left shoulder. Booth turned.

And reeled back when Angela's slap almost knocked him off the stool.

"What the-?"

"How could you?" Angela faced him, hands on her hips and fire in her eyes.

"Angela!" Cam's shock was plain in her voice. "What the hell was that for?"

Angela's gaze didn't flicker from Booth's. "I talked to Brennan this afternoon."

"Of course you did." Booth waved off the bartender's concern and rubbed at his cheek."Ow."

Angela ignored him, directing her explanation to Cam. "He accused her of seducing him as part of some kind of cover up."

"Tell me you didn't," Cam said, wide eyed.

Booth leaned back against the bar, putting some distance between himself and Angela. He'd suspected something like this was coming. Hell, he was surprised it hadn't happened earlier. It had been three days since he and Bones had argued.

"What?" he asked. "I'm not the one who's in the wrong here." And why the hell were the two of them staring at him like he'd grown an extra head?

Angela and Cam exchanged one of their are-all-men-this-stupid looks before Angela turned on him again.

"Bren screwed up," she said. "No question. She screwed up royally. And I don't blame you for being pissed." She stepped closer, invading his personal space. "But she would never," she hissed. "Never seduce you in order to hide what she'd done."

"She sucker-punched me!" Booth took a fortifying gulp of scotch, felt the liquid courage slide down his throat. "Haven't you ever said anything in the heat of the moment that you regretted later?" Whatever else might or might not be true, Angela was right. Bones was far too honest for those kinds of games.

"Did you tell her you regretted it?" Angela pressed. "Did you apologize?"

"Not yet," he said. He wasn't about to admit that he hadn't spoken with Bones at all since the argument, or that the quiet finality of that last goodbye had kept him up for most of the last three nights.

"You'd better apologize, or so help me-"

It was Cam who saved him. "Angela, take it easy."

"Take it easy!" Angela spun toward Cam. "My best friend is out there pregnant, alone, and convinced that the man she loves never wants to see her again."

Booth swallowed hard. How the hell had Bones gotten that idea? He needed to call her, set her straight before she did something stupid. At Cam's significant look he sighed.

"Look. I'll talk to her. Okay?" How had this happened, anyway? He was the injured party here.

"So what did I miss?" Jack came up behind Angela and draped a casual arm around her shoulders, his gaze sliding from Booth to the two women and back again. "Geez, man. What the hell did you do?"

Booth threw up his hands. "I don't even know anymore."

Angela angled her head to look at her husband. "I told you on the way over."

"Yeah, but still … Why are you two glaring at Booth?" Jack looked as puzzled as Booth felt. "Dr. Brennan used his sperm without asking him. Seems to me he's the one who ought to be pissed."

Hodgins was a little weird, but right now Booth would take any ally he could get. "Thank you." He offered Jack a grateful fist bump.

Hodgins bumped back. "Seriously though. Dr. Brennan is loaded. She could afford prize-winning sperm, but she picked yours instead. How cool is that?"

Was that a compliment or an insult? Booth didn't ask. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Hodgins leaned in close to Angela. "Why did she pick Booth, anyway?" he asked her, sotto voce.

She elbowed him hard enough that Booth heard the whoosh of escaping air. "Because she loves him, you big lug."

"Oh." Hodgins nodded solemnly. "Right."

"Has the whole damned world gone mad?" Booth blew out a sigh. "Look. I appreciate what you're all trying to do, but this is between Bones and me, okay? We'll handle it."

Angela made a move to step closer, but Jack held her back. She glared at Booth. "You'd better handle it."

"Give the guy a break, Ange." Jack leaned in, kissed his wife's temple. "It was just a shock, that's all. They'll work it out."

Angela looked doubtful. Jack squeezed her shoulders. "Can we go home, now?" he asked. "Michael's going to be hungry soon, and the babysitter looked pretty wigged out at the idea of handling frozen breast milk."

Angela nodded, but the instant Jack dropped his guard she stepped in close to Booth again.

"Bren loves you more than anything," she said quietly. "Now. You know-" She jabbed a finger at his chest. "And I know-" Jabbed it at her own. "That the real reason she used your sperm was because it was the only way she could keep you and let you go at the same time." She straightened. Backed off a half step. "Try to remember that when you talk to her."

With that she spun on her heel and walked out, leaving Jack to say their goodbyes before hurrying after her.

Cam turned to look at Booth after they'd gone. "Well," she said. "That was … Interesting."

Booth gestured to the bartender. "I suppose that's one word for it." He nodded to the barkeep. "Coke. Straight up. No ice."

At Cam's raised eyebrows, he shrugged. "I think I've had enough booze for one night."

"Hear, hear," Cam said, and added her order to his. "Make mine a diet. Plenty of ice." She shot a glance at Booth. "How you drink soda without ice …" She shook her head.

"Ice just waters it down." Booth popped a pretzel into his mouth. Did Bones really think he never wanted to see her again? Because she couldn't be more wrong. No matter how pissed he was about what she'd done he couldn't begin to imagine a life without her in it. He wanted her, would always want her. In his life, in his heart, by his side and in his arms. Nothing would change that.

"So what are you going to do?" Cam asked quietly.

"I don't know." The anger was gone, but the hurt was still there in the dull throb behind his eyes. "I just … I can't believe she did it, you know?"

"I can."

Their drinks arrived, and Booth swallowed half of his before looking over at her. She gazed steadily back at him, calm certainty in her dark eyes.

"She loves you, Seeley. At least as much as you love her. Maybe more."

"That doesn't give her the right-"

"No," Cam interrupted him. "It doesn't." She touched his arm, still holding his gaze. "But it sure explains a hell of a lot."

Booth downed the rest of his soda and signalled for the check. "Yeah, well, I'm still pissed as hell about it."

Cam grinned, her eyes alight with humor and affection. "No you aren't."

He pulled out his wallet, fished inside, and slapped a credit card down on the counter. "Yeah? How do you figure that?"

"I've known you for a lot of years, Seeley Booth. If you were still pissed off you'd be ordering another scotch instead of high-tailing it out of here so you could call Dr. B."

His mouth tilted into a half smile despite his best efforts to hold it back. "How do you know that's what I'm doing?"

Cam's unladylike snort made him chuckle as he figured the tip and signed off on the credit card receipt.

"Right," she said in a skeptical drawl, signalling for her own bill. She shot him a sideways glance and a slight frown. "You are taking a cab, right?"

"Of course I am." He slid off the stool, waited until the world steadied, then looked at her. "You going to be okay here?"

She waved a twenty at him. "I'm right behind you."

He waited until he was in the taxi to pull out his cellphone. He was about to hit the speed dial code when he noticed the time. Damn it. She probably hadn't finished at the bookstore yet. He wanted to talk to her, put this whole fight to rest once and for all, but he didn't want to interrupt her event to do it. Text message, then. Maybe she would check it between autographs.

"I'm sorry," he typed. He wasn't sorry for being mad, but in typical Seeley Booth style, he'd handled the whole thing like an ass, letting emotion overrun common sense. He thought about what Cam had said, hesitated, and punched in the last ten characters before he could change his mind. Then he took a deep breath, sent up a fervent prayer ...

And hit the send button.

Brennan finished her last talk with a sigh of relief. The past few days had been difficult, but it was almost over now. In twenty-four hours she would board the train and head home. She'd been to eleven cities in four weeks-a less intensive tour than the ones she usually did, but still productive-and she was more than ready to get back home and start adjusting to life without Booth.

"All set?" Todd asked at her elbow. She'd been so preoccupied that she hadn't noticed he'd pulled out a chair for her.

"Yes. Thank you." She sat down, mustered a smile, and accepted the first book. "For whom am I signing?" she asked, barely even glancing up.

"Just, 'to C' would be perfect, thank you."

Brennan signed, letting the letters loop larger than she usually did, and closed the book. When she lifted her head to hand it back, she paused. There was something vaguely familiar about the woman on the other side of the table. Silly, she thought. She had interacted with hundreds of fans over the past few weeks. It was perfectly understandable that some of them would bear a certain physical resemblance to each other. Shaking her head, she offered another smile.

"Thank you for coming," she said. "I hope you enjoyed the lecture."

"I did," the woman said. "Very much so." She was taller than Brennan. Statuesque was the word that came to mind. And quite stylish. Still, try as she might Brennan couldn't place what was familiar about her. There wasn't time to dwell on it, though. Turnout at this last event had been excellent, and a long line of people was waiting for her attention.

The next two hours were filled with autograph after autograph, forced smiles, and inane pleasantries that never stopped feeling awkward, despite the amount of practice she'd had. By the time the last fan turned away from the table the store was getting ready to close.

Brennan dropped her pen and rubbed at her temples.

"Headache?" Todd asked.

She mustered a weak smile. "It's been a long day."

"It's been a long tour." He was worried about her, his concern clear in the timbre and pitch of his voice.. "Why don't you head on back to your hotel and get some rest?"

"No, I'm okay. I prefer to assist with the cleanup." Somebody had left a half-full bottle of water on the table. She picked it up, dumped it in the trash can at her side, and tossed a used up pen in after it.

"Temperance." At the unexpected firmness of his tone, she looked up at him. "Go," he said. "I'll finish up here." He grinned. "If you're really feeling guilty, you can take me to dinner at the Lockwood tomorrow before you catch the train. We'll do our wrap-up over free-range chicken and wild mushroom soup."

She shook her head. "I'm a vegetarian, remember?"

"Doesn't mean I have to be," he shot back. "Besides, you said you've been having cravings, right? Who's to say you won't have one for free-range chicken?"

She smiled despite herself. Sometimes Todd reminded her of Russ.

"We'll see," she said noncommittally. She reached for a stack of books, intending to return them to their box, but Todd stopped her.

"Seriously," he said, "let me finish up. Enjoy your evening. Hell, you're staying at the Palmer House. How many people ever get to do that?"

She started to respond, but he shook his head, interrupting her.

"Don't start quoting statistics at me. Go. Get some rest. You've earned it."

Cleaning up wasn't her job. She knew that. The bookstore employees were accustomed to it being theirs. But Todd had once pointed out the importance of public relations, explaining that bookstore clerks were the front line between her and her readers. Clerks and store managers, he'd explained, controlled the visibility of her books in their stores, so it was important to make a good impression on them. It was a logical observation, so she always tried to be as personable as she could and to help with the work at both the beginning and end of her events.

Tonight, though … Todd was right. She'd had enough.

She got to her feet, and when Todd stood up with her she gave him an impulsive hug.

"Thanks, Todd."

"You bet." He let her go and took a half step back. "I meant what I said, though. The Lockwood. Tomorrow. I want that chicken."

She laughed. "Okay, but it'll have to be a late lunch. My train leaves at six."

"How about three?"

"Sounds perfect."

"I'll see you then," he said. "I'll be the hungry guy with the charming smile."

With another grin and a shake of her head, Brennan reached for her bag. "Maybe I should warn them that you're coming. Tell them they should order extra."

Todd's smile was infectious. "Might be a good idea."

Her cellphone vibrated in her pocket as she neared the door. She pulled it out and checked the display. It was a text message from Booth. She hesitated. It was highly probable that he was still angry, in which case she should wait until she got back to the hotel to read his note. But she missed him, and even typed words on a screen were better than nothing at all. Decision made, she hit the button to open the message.

I'm sorry, she read.

Then her heart skipped a beat as she read the rest.

I love you.